One Week After
by VickyVicarious
Summary: It's been one week, and Seth's head is filled with fairy tales and Crayola colors and Ryan, always Ryan. Seth/Ryan. Sequel to "Eyes".


You think that it's sort of amazing, that it's only been a week. So much has changed already.

But then, that's the way life in the OC is, even if you yourself didn't know that until only lately, when Ryan arrived and introduced you into the popular circle, filled with parties, drugs, hot girls, alcohol, and lots and lots of drama.

You don't regret it. Not really. But the truth is, you kind of miss what it was like, those first few days when Ryan arrived, when it was just the two of you. Well, even then, there was Marissa, and tension with Luke, and you were panting after Summer, but still – it was Ryan and Seth, united. After all, when you aren't – people get shot.

But the point is, that it's just sort of strange, despite you having had over a year to get used to it. Things have changed, changed fast, and not necessarily for the better. Because in life, or at least in the OC anyway, change begets entirely unrelated change. So one night, Ryan tells you his mother is in coma, you kiss him, and then the two of you fall asleep in the poolhouse after playing videogames all night.

One would think that would cause enough drama. But no, of course not. You have to be woken the next day by Mom in a hurry, apparently not even having noticed that you slept over in the poolhouse. Why? Because someone – AKA Marissa's mother, of course – got all slutty with a married guy, and then his wife got jealous, and someone else's wife got drunk, and somehow, through a twist of events you can't quite follow, this leads to all of you showing up at the hospital to offer your sincerest apologies to the drunken lady's teenage daughter, whose arm was broken when she attempted to step in between two people about to fight.

It seems that even when Ryan isn't technically _attending_, his mere presence within a mile of a charity function (AKA Newpsie party), still causes fights. The thought is oddly comforting.

The girl, Tara, is shockingly pretty, in a vaguely Summer-ey way, though much nicer to you, and the two of you hit it off pretty quickly, though to be honest you were a little to busy staring while trying not to stare at Ryan to pay much attention to what she was saying.

Not only that, but Marissa got herself some new boyfriend, who was predictably a jerk. Summer started ignoring you again, and Ryan's mom got worse.

You don't particularly feel like relating the whole tale right now, because it's mostly unimportant drama that isn't what you want to focus on. All anyone needs to know is that Ryan's mom woke up, Tara is a friend who thinks that you and Ryan are a couple, and neither you nor Ryan are talking with Summer or Marissa.

So, essentially, you're kind of screwed.

Not that it matters, really, at least on the Ryan front (which, let's be honest, is all you've wanted to talk about this whole time; the rest of this was just background info until you can get to the good stuff), because he seems to have completely forgotten that kiss out on the beach.

You haven't, though. In between being tossed around another Newport scandal, you have spent the past seven days thinking of nothing but Ryan, and you've come to the conclusion that, yes, you do like him. In a very Gay Way, cowboy.

And, frankly, that's really not very stressful. After all, at least Ryan _likes_ you, as a person. He talks to you. He hangs out with you. He listens you, and he's always got your back, even if you don't deserve it.

And _god_ is he hot.

Can you just say, that in this past week, you've had make far more 'bathroom breaks' than any man could expect to be proud of? Before, you never really noticed just how much you and Ryan touch. Now? Every bump, every brush, even every single moment of _eye-contact_ – you've become hypersensitive and you are kind of ashamed at how badly you handle this whole 'having a crush on a friend' thing. Because to be fair, you've never had any practice, what with always being obsessed with Summer, who never looked at you, let alone hung out with you – and actually even any sort of friend would be necessary to prepare you for this. And even _then_, could you really ever fully prepare yourself for Ryan?

Probably not. Ryan is special, one-of-a-kind. A diamond in the rough, even, and great, now you're thinking of _Aladdin_. It would be cool if you had a tiger, although you'd never trade out Captain Oats as animal companionship – and yes, it is sad, but necessary for you to be Jasmine. Because she gets together with Aladdin, and they get married and probably have a lot of sex, and you don't know about getting married but you would so very very much like to have a lot of sex with Aladdin.

Er, Ryan.

Anyway, the point is that there's something about Ryan, that just draws people in, and you get the sneaking suspicion that even if you'd already had other friends before Ryan, other crushes besides Summer, you would still have this exact same reaction every time he walks into the room. Oh, clarification? That's easy: it's a sort of throbby, twitchy thing that's happening, where your heart speeds up, like bunny-rabbit speed, _thump-thump-thump-thump-thump_, and also like you just got dropped into the Amazon rainforest, right in the middle with the heat all over and the sweaty worry that some big tiger or something is going to eat you, and the tiger in this analogy (if that's the right word, it might be metaphor, you're usually good with these but an effect or affect or whichever it is of this is that you've lost whatever grip on sanity you previously had) would have to be Ryan – so that puts Ryan eating you in your head, and there's so many different ways of interpreting that, and only the one where you're sprinkled on his ice-cream sundae is creepy, the rest are dirty, and a lot of them involve ice-cream too, actually; so you're in an ice-cream porn movie in the Amazon rainforest, with your bunny-heart running around in a panic because it's been abandoned by its little bunny brain: _thump-thump-thumpthumpthumpthump!thump!thump!thump!THUMP!THUMP!_

And Ryan just sits there in his wifebeater, looking at you, and raises one eyebrow. "Seth," he says in that calm voice, eyes looking like something chiseled out of the sky, _his_ heart probably a turtle speed, _thump---thump---thump---thump_, collected and calm, and about to say something important, because his sky-eyes are focused on yours and that can't mean nothing: "Breathe."

You gasp, and feel oxygen rush back into your brain (though not pure oxygen because then you. Would. Die.), and all of the rampant thoughts just slow… down.

Yes, breathing. Breathing is good. "Wise advice from Shaman Ryan. I need more, man. You got anything good about parents, maybe? Moms?"

Ryan's eyes crinkle at the edges. "Yes, Seth. My mom is fine. You already know that."

"Yeah – but – you haven't seen her since forever! I mean, there was that trip down to visit her you just made, and all, but that doesn't really count, except that I know you guys get along really well now and all. Hey, are you going to go visit again? You know, for a while?"

Ryan opens his mouth, and yes, you are afraid of him going still, and you secreted his hoodie up into your bedroom so he can't, does that make you a bad person? "After all, Ryan, we have school. And school is very important. School is the essence of education, and education is the essence of beauty. Or… something like that. I don't know, just trust the merman, okay? Stay in school, don't visit her. You can call. Phones are a really good invention – mine has unlimited minutes to family, some sort of package plan. You should get a cell phone, so we can have unlimited minutes. I promise, you'd be number one on my speed dial. Well, after voicemail, because that's automatic. And maybe Dominoes, but that's just a matter of survival –"

"Seth," Ryan says, and you refrain from talking about pizza or your mom's cooking blunders, snapping your mouth shut. "I'm not going to go live with my mom. We just talked. That's all." His mouth quirks up slightly in one corner, the way it does when he's a little bit touched and a little bit amused, which is good. "I'm not going anywhere, man."

You're Pavlov's dog, face relaxing into a wide smile, muscles unclenching everywhere. You're floppy and happy, and you kind of want to lick Ryan's cheek and hug him.

He grins at you and shakes his head a little, like _isn't that kid hilarious? Thinking I was leaving. That Seth Cohen, always good for a laugh_.

When he laughs, his eyes are Crayola-blue, Silver Swirls' Cerulean Frost, with a hint of the regular Blue Bell. His lips are either Cotton Candy or Piggy Pink, and you want to press yours against them, want to be good for something other than a laugh and a friend.

You'd marry him if you had to, pretend you're the princess of Agrabah, and then maybe he'd wear just a vest and nothing else, right there and open and making out with you, Seth Cohen. Or, Jasmine, but role-play really can wait, especially if you have to be a girl.

Ryan's quieter, eyes deepening to Denim, and there's a reason why you loved Crayola so much. They've got a color for everything. And Denim is new for Ryan, it's a color that makes you think maybe he does remember, hasn't forgotten a quick clumsy press of a kiss, the big Gay Moment. He could pull it off, he's Ryan, he can do this and still be cool, can shortcircuit your brain with a burning look and Denim eyes, and you want his heart to be losing the race with yours.

You can't even understand your own thoughts anymore, and it's been a while since either of you have said anything. You're dripping with sweat, and your throat is dry. It needs some Atwood to refresh it; maybe if it's for medicinal purposes, Ryan won't mind licking your uvula?

"Ryan, dude – " It's all you can say, with sudden harshness stinging at the backs of your eyes, your throat closing up in unexpected emotion. "That's good. That… Yeah, good."

And then you run.

Because your heart is bursting and you just realized that Ryan _does_ remember. He just hasn't said anything because he didn't want that, doesn't want _you_, not even for medicinal purposes, and that should be cool, because lust was never in the job description anyway. Friendship is all you've got, and that should be fucking good enough for you.

And it will be. It will, once you've just got this out of your system. One cry, that's all you need, letting out the Big Gay Love for your almost-brother, so very Cohen of you to do this to yourself. Because, yes, love. At least, that's what it's got to be, right, if the thought of him leaving makes everything freeze, burning in place, _god_ you need him so much, in every way possible…

You slam your door behind you, digging into your pillowcase until you can pull out Ryan's hoodie, burying your face in it, breathing in Ryan-scent, the knowledge that he's never going to go. You're never going to lose him, and, time to be honest, you're never going to have him either, and you can't believe you've been doing this to yourself for a week.

There's a knock at the door and you know it's got to be Ryan.

"Go away!" You sound like a little kid, wiping your arm across your face, stuffing the hoodie under the blankets, sitting up and reaching for a comic book at random, yanking it onto your lap and opening it. "I'm reading!"

Ryan comes in anyway, of course, and snorts. "Seth, that's upside down."

You close the comic book and put it away, too tired to even give a shit anymore. There's something very exhausting about realizing you're going to pine after your almost-brother for the rest of your life.

You avoid looking at him, and his sigh is loud just before he sits down next to you. "Hey, man, tell me what's going on. You've been weird ever since – "

He stops. You sniff, and wipe your nose.

"Seth…" Ryan's voice is slow, testing, coaxing like someone luring an animal into a trap. Those guys from that fairy tale, with the unicorn, except you are pretty sure that even if you begged, Ryan wouldn't touch _your_ horn.

"Is this about…" Ryan's voice drops and goes a little scratchy, and your freaking bunny heart jumps up from under the tree, ready to run the race and come in at the finish line behind Ryan. –Oh god, you just thought that.

He clears his throat. His voice is still a little scratchy. "That thing… on the beach? That…"

_Kiss_, Ryan doesn't say. You shake your head unconvincingly. Probably the only thing worse than this would be Kid Chino breaking your nose and never talking to you again, which will happen when you lose it and try to kiss him again in about two more seconds.

You can't _help_ it, though, Ryan's sucking you in like a black hole, compressing you just into _thumpthumpthumpneedwantrightfuckingheresoclosegodRyanRyanRyan_, and you sway around, your eyes meeting his.

Your eyes are probably something boring, like plain old Brown, but Ryan's are Blue Gray, and that's a lot prettier than it sounds. Blue Gray eyes, and a husky voice and Cotton Candy-Piggy Pink lips, and turtle heart, slow and steady and winning the race and you, winning you and you wanting him so bad you're going to die, he's going to leave and leave you and you can't have that.

You practically fall onto him, not at all graceful or sweet, just mashed lips on lips, a lot like last time, and then yank off, face turning Razzmatazz with shame.

The thing is, though, turtles might be slow and steady, but Ryan isn't always, and after he licks his lips and says "Seth…" in a voice that breaks your soul and fireworks your heart, he moves like a mongoose, like Rikki Tikki Tavvi, right back at you.

His hand catches the back of your head, hard, and his lips stop right before they hit yours. Your heart doesn't know what's going on, it's crying _RyanRyanRyan_ as hard as it can, it's a wonder he can't hear it, he's so close.

But he does, or he sees something in your eyes, right before they actually flutter closed, because he doesn't mash. Ryan's got the kissing thing down, doing this soft slide, fingers scratching into your Jewfro, mouth hot and melting yours. It takes barely a second for your lips to fall open and he laughs, _laughs_ and his tongue is there like cotton candy silk, sweet and smooth and you are slowly falling back, back.

Into the bed, Ryan kneeling over you, your whole body shivering and sweating and aching for more – your arms flop up into action, fingers that are deft on any video game controller suddenly at a loss, torn between gripping his arms and scratching his back or clutching his head so he can never ever ever get away.

With a noise like a suction cup, Ryan tugs off of you, and says, panting, here, "Seth, breathe."

Air floods into your lungs, air that smells like Ryan and brings Atwood coursing through your body. You were wrong, there's no Crayola for this, Ryan's eyes and lips and above you, heat blanket, your back on that hoodie, little half-grin on his face, solid and here and _burningRyanRyanRyan_ and not. _Leaving._

"You should get a vest," you gasp, and then grin really, really wide.

* * *

I got the Crayola colors from the list on Wikipedia.


End file.
